


The Best Laid Schemes

by Wetislandinthenorthatlantic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awesome Molly, F/M, Mycroft To The Rescue, Sherlock Being Sherlock, demisexual mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6514738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic/pseuds/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is getting in Molly's way and she comes up with a clever plan to get rid of him ... but she will need Mycroft's help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Molly's Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shnuffeluv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/gifts).



> Many, many thanks to Shnuffeluv for the discussions!!! 
> 
> This work is un-beta ed -- all errors are mine. 
> 
> I do not own these characters. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It had been such a long week -- and it was only Wednesday. Today had been especially tiresome. As soon as it was feasible Mycroft Holmes excused himself from the whirlwind of Whitehall to seek the tranquility of his beloved Diogenes Club.

Moments after settling into his favourite leather chair by the fire with a well-worn book of poetry in one hand, a stiff drink in the other, a member of staff appeared with a large silver tray containing a note. Reading it with a frown Mycroft responded curtly, "Show her in."

Moments later an extremely nervous Dr Molly Hooper was sitting in the chair opposite Mycroft causing him to become equally as unsettled. Thoughts of what Sherlock could have done to upset his friend like this flashed through Mycroft’s mind, tying his stomach in a large knot.  

"Dr Hooper," Mycroft nodded as he forced on his most pleasant face. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

Eyes darting around the room, hands unconsciously moving, Molly uttered the two words Mycroft had dreaded, "It's Sherlock."

"Is he in some sort of trouble?" His heart racing Mycroft could feel his throat going dry. Never before had one of Sherlock's friends sought him out. It must be bad. 

"Ummm— not really—" Molly stammered obviously not quite sure how to begin. "It's more like he is the trouble.” Taking a shuddering breath to calm herself Molly’s eyes finally met Mycroft’s. “I- I- need your help."

"I'm sorry. I don't follow you." Mycroft answered quietly as a perplexed look settled on his face.

"Well," after a deep breath Molly began to explain "I have a paper that has been provisionally accepted by the BMJ. I have six weeks to make the revisions and resubmit."

"Congratulations" remarked Mycroft as pleasantly as possible while trying not to sound too bored. "But how does this concern Sherlock?"

"Thank you.” A small smile crossed Molly’s face for a moment before it clouded again with concern.  “My problem is- Sherlock insists on using my lab nearly every day at the moment. I can't run the experiments I need when his projects are taking over a third of my space. Not to mention all of the tedious tasks he coerces me to do for him. I just can’t seem to say no to him." With a sad sigh Molly fell silent.

"My sincerest apologies Dr Hooper my dear brother is an arrogant horse’s ass— always has been. I would have thought this obvious by now." Casually Mycroft looked at his watch wondering how much longer this was going to go on.

"Yes. I know,” replied Molly with a defeated tone. “I am trying everything to make him go away— wearing cheap perfume, lipstick that doesn't suit me. I even changed my shampoo to a brand I know he hates. Nothing seems to deter him. I just need him to stay away from me for a few weeks— that’s why I’m here-- to get your help.” 

A snort escaped before Mycroft could stop it. "I appreciate your faith in me but I haven't been able to get Sherlock to do anything since he was seven."

“I’ve got a plan,“ Molly hesitated a moment before gaining the courage to continue. 

Mycroft stared at Molly, telepathically urging to her to get on with it; this was now very tiresome.  

“He hates you— so I’m here to ask you to sleep with me. Molly stared at her hands in her lap; not daring to look at Mycroft.  "Hopefully Sherlock will find this so repulsive he will stay away from me— at least until I get my paper sorted." Finally verbalizing her request Molly looked up, significantly calmer; a weight had definitely been taken off her shoulders.  

It was slightly difficult for Mycroft to keep the look of shock off his face but he managed. Certainly tiresome was no longer an appropriate adjective to describe this meeting. Instead he let his features soften  as he contemplated the plan Molly had concocted.

"Well Dr Hooper I can see your point. It is an odd little plan but there is some method in your madness. It has a reasonable chance of working."

The look of relief on Molly’s face was quickly replaced by nervousness. She hadn’t actually believed Mycroft would agree to her plan.

Sensing her unease Mycroft added quickly, “I believe it will be easier on us both if we discuss this further over dinner.”

Greatly relieved Molly nodded in agreement.

"When was the last time you ate Dr Hooper?" asked Mycroft while intently scrutinizing the woman across from him. 

"Oh. Um. I bought a sandwich from the canteen at 11:30am -- took it back to my office and ate at my desk." 

"I suspected as much," tutted Mycroft as he pressed the staff call button next to his chair.

Moments later a steward appeared; instead of his usual steak and challenging bottle of St-Emilion Mycroft ordered the pair fish and a significantly more quaffable German wine. As a rule he steered clear of white fruity wines but given his dinner companion he figured this would be the best choice— especially considering what lay ahead of them.

Soon the wine arrived; Molly and Mycroft toasted to Sherlock. His choice of wine was confirmed as Molly took a second large sip commenting on how delightful his choice was.

Given his years in Whitehall Mycroft was a master of engaging small talk; the first course of dinner arrived before Molly noticed any time passing at all. She also didn’t notice her wine glass being regularly refilled throughout the evening.

Somewhere deep in the Diogenes a grandfather clock began to chime ten o’clock. Mycroft allowed a hint of a smile to settle on his face as he looked across to the very relaxed and happily intoxicated Dr Molly Hooper.  

Pushing himself up from his chair he slowly walked towards her and extended his hand, “Shall we?”

Looking up at the outstretched hand Molly took a deep breath and slipped a slightly trembling hand into his, allowing herself to be helped up.

As he stood behind her and slipped her coat up her arms Mycroft inquired gently, “Are you still sure about this?” Closing her eyes for a moment Molly nodded. Mycroft allowed his hands to linger on Molly’s shoulders as he adjusted her coat; slowly he felt her relax under his touch. As they moved towards the door he put his hand on the small of her back leading her through the nearly empty Diogenes Club out to his waiting car.


	2. Tights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta on this one -- all errors are mine.

Molly blinked her eyes open to find the unfamiliar room filled with early morning light. A jolt of fear surged through her when she couldn’t remember where she was.

Utter confusion and panic was about to overtake her until she suddenly realized Mycroft was sitting on the edge of the bed—his bed, having just woken her up. Molly began taking deep breaths to slow her racing heart as she pushed herself to sitting.

" I'm sorry. It didn't seem appropriate for you to wake up alone." Despite the early hour he was already dressed for work.

 Now fully conscious Molly was horrified to discover she was wearing one of Mycroft's shirts. She felt herself grow pale remembering the request she had made to him in the Diogenes Club the night before.

 "Before I go, tell me what you remember of last night." Mycroft’s tone was relaxed but direct. 

 "I— I remember going to your club and— um— asking you to sleep with me. We had dinner. I might have had— did have— too much wine." Molly began haltingly. "Then we snogged in your car— you carried me up the stairs—" cheeks burning with embarrassment Molly wished the earth would open up and swallow her.  

 "Anything else?" Mycroft gently pushed. 

 Shaking her head Molly mouthed the word "No" as visions of imagined outcomes danced through her mind. She couldn’t look Mycroft in the eye, instead opting to watch her hands play with the edge of the blanket.

 "Let me fill in the gaps. Once in my bedroom you proceeded to take your clothes off,” answered Mycroft very matter-of-factly. “You started to shiver so I gave you my shirt. After a few more minutes of ‘snogging’ as you put it, you requested the loo. When you didn’t re-appear after 10 minutes I went to investigate and found you curled up on my bath mat fast asleep. I tucked you up in bed, before I spent the night on the couch." Mycroft gestured to the sofa under the window which did indeed have a pillow and blanket on it. 

 "I'm so embarrassed," whispered Molly with her eyes tightly closed. "I couldn’t even do this right." 

 "No Molly. It's me who couldn’t. I don't work that way."

 "Oh god you're gay," Molly let out a groan filled with despair. 

 "Not gay—" Mycroft took a deep breath, "but I am wired differently than most. Before there is any chance of sexual arousal I need to be emotionally invested in someone and trust them implicitly.” 

 "But if you knew nothing would happen why didn’t you send me away?" Molly looked up at him with eyes beginning to fill with tears.

 "Quite simply, as embarrassing as it is to admit,” Mycroft had a very sheepish look on his face, “I was flattered by your proposition. It's been a long time since anyone has suggested me desirable enough to sleep with them let alone brazen enough to ask me outright. And the snogging turned out to be rather pleasant.” Mycroft added with a shrug.

 A small smile settled on Molly’s face. 

 "You are an attractive woman Molly Hooper and need to be more cautious. Sherlock has obviously pushed you to the edge. Had I turned you down or otherwise insulted your offer I shudder to think what you might have done given your emotional state.” Mycroft gave Molly a serious look. “Last night I decided the best option was to save you from yourself.”

 “I'm not attractive,” Molly shook her head gently. 

 “Yes you are. Here let me show you.” 

 Before Molly could protest Mycroft took a photo of her with his phone.

 “See?”

 In the photo Molly saw a woman sitting in the middle of a rumpled bed, with a shy smile, tousled hair, and even she had to admit looking sexy, wearing a man’s shirt. 

 “Had you ended up with someone not as upstanding as myself last night, heaven only knows what might have happened to you.” Molly felt like he was giving her a stern warning.  

 "Thanks," she said quietly. "Last night could have ended very badly. I’ll figure out something else to keep Sherlock away."

 Mycroft looked confused, “Why? Your plan is batty enough to work. Sherlock’s vivid imagination will have a field day with this,” Mycroft’s elegant hand made a sweeping gesture around the room, “and you are correct; the thought will thoroughly disgust him.”

 “Really?”

 “Yes, but for this to be truly believable I should be the one who breaks the news of our tryst to my little brother.”

 “Are you are sure,” asked Molly hesitantly. "How are you going to tell him?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but I have an idea. Just follow my lead."

"Okay."

 “Today, put up with him as best as you can until I arrive,  Hopefully I’ll be with your by mid-afternoon,” replied Mycroft looking at his watch. “I must go or I’ll be late for my breakfast meeting with the Cabinet. My housekeeper has been notified you are here. You don’t need to deal with a cardiac arrest in addition to your hang-over,” he added with a wry smile as he stood up and moved towards the door.

 “Mycroft?” called Molly nervously causing him to turn back to look at her. “Are you sure nothing happened?” 

 “On my honour, my dear. Know that I am filled with regret that I can't take advantage of this situation but sadly that's just how I am. Try to get some more sleep. Hopefully tonight you’ll be working into the wee hours on your paper.”

 

//

 

Mycroft appeared in Molly's lab at 2:30p carrying a small Prada shopping bag. 

 "It's not Anthea's birthday. What's in the bag?" inquired Sherlock without looking up from his microscope. 

 "None of your business," snapped Mycroft. "Where's Molly?"

 Sherlock sat straight up and looked at his brother. "I had no idea you knew her name brother mine. Taking an interest in MY friends are we? She went to get me coffee. Back in a tick." Sherlock went back to his microscope. 

 Moments later Molly appeared with two paper cups of coffee. 

 “Oh. Hi Mycroft. What brings you here?” asked Molly nervously glancing at Sherlock across the lab. “If I had known you would be here I would have picked you up a coffee.” 

 “Not to worry my dear. I came to return something,” with a smile on his face Mycroft held out the small bag to Molly causing her to move into a position ensuring Sherlock could get a clear view of them from where he sat. “I discovered them in the back of my car this morning on the way to work.” 

 Molly opened the bag and blushed a deep pink when she saw the contents. 

 “I'm afraid they are ripped, which I take full responsibility for, due to my enthusiasm. I have purchased a replacement pair.” 

 “Thank you,” feeling brave Molly added, “How did breakfast with the Cabinet go?”

 Taking a deep breath Mycroft answered, “Frustrating.” Continuing, his voice took on a husky tone barely above a whisper. “Had I been looking for satisfaction I should have stayed put this morning.”

 The comments had the desired effect of colouring Molly’s cheeks an even deeper shade of pink. Instinctively her eyes dropped to the floor as she bit the insides of her cheeks to keep her smile in check.

 When Mycroft tentatively reached up and tucked a wisp of hair behind Molly’s ear it was the last straw.  Sherlock leapt up knocking his lab stool over causing an echoing clatter. Crossing the lab in two giant steps he snatched the bag out of Molly's hand, reached in and pulled out the tights Molly had been wearing yesterday now featuring a number of very large rips and a pair of tights still in the packet. 

 With a look of horror on his face he slowly looked from the undergarments in his hand to Molly then to Mycroft— twice— before dropping both the bag and the tights. Dumbstruck he sprinted out of the lab.

 “Mission accomplished my dear,” announced Mycroft happily as he bent down to retrieve the items Sherlock had dropped. “Consider my brother repulsed.”

 “Oh Mycroft thank you so much!” Molly was nearly bouncing with happiness.

 “I’ll have him watched closely for the next few weeks and alert you when his aversion begins to wear off. Start on your experiments today. He has been deterred but who knows for how long,” added Mycroft ominously. “Next time it will take more than a pair of ripped tights to keep this charade going. Good luck Molly. I’ll be in touch.”

 With a nod in Molly’s direction he left without another word.

 Standing in the middle of her empty lab Molly took deep breath and got down to work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I write this story it has just occurred to me that this could be considered a "fake relationship AU." 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Next chapter is well underway ...


	3. A Step Too Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to thINKture -- who always makes it better!

The modest bouquet of flowers appeared with no warning while Molly was on her lunch break. With no card attached she surmised it was for her lab assistant and felt guilty for forgetting Alice's birthday, again.  
  
It was only when Sherlock appeared later that afternoon and his gaze focused on the flowers like an owl on a mouse that she realized the flowers were from Mycroft. Roaming about the lab and clearly distracted by the flowers, grumbling his displeasure at all the good lab space being taken up by Molly's experiments, Sherlock finally left.  
  
With a satisfied smile, Molly texted Mycroft and gave him a quick report on his brother's response to the flowers and went back to work.  
  
Over the next three weeks, like the silence of birds warning of seismic activity, so the flowers warned of a visit from Sherlock.  
  
The bouquets seemed to cast some sort of protection spell around the lab which Sherlock couldn’t manage to come to terms with. He would stare at the flowers with an odd look of disbelief on his face, wander the perimeter of the room as if looking for a lab station safe from the flowers, and eventually leaving.  
  
Molly only casually wondered how the flowers could have such a powerful effect on Sherlock.  
  
‘Perhaps he’s allergic.’ Molly mused.  
  
Truth was she was very close to reaching her final conclusions and had little time to think about anything else.  
  
It was the most innocent looking bouquet of them all — a hand-tied bunch of orange snapdragons that caused Sherlock to snap. Molly had seen him angry several times but never seething. As he swept out the door, Molly could hear him shouting down his phone, “PROVE IT!”  
  
  
//

  
  
Although her day hadn't been particularly overwhelming, Molly was grateful to be home. Soon after she had settled in, an urgent knock drew her away from making a cup of tea.  
  
“Hello Molly, may I come in?” Mycroft’s eyes nervously scanned the flat behind Molly when she opened the door.  
  
“Of course. Cup of tea? Kettle’s just boiled.”  
  
“No thank you,” Mycroft replied curtly.  
  
“You look upset. Is everything okay?”  
  
She took Mycroft’s coat and hung it up on the rack near the door. He followed her into the kitchen.  
  
“No. It's not. I—“ He hesitated, unsure how his confession was going to be met.  
  
“The bouquets of flowers - I believe I might have been a bit too enthusiastic.”  
  
“I’m sorry?” Molly scrunched up her nose, finished stirring her tea and faced Mycroft.  
  
“I don’t understand,” she repeated. She took a handful of biscuits out of a packet and put them on a plate. He followed her into the living room.  
  
“The bouquets— I might have— I did— go too far,” Mycroft had taken a seat on the sofa and was looking sheepishly at the floor. Molly giggled from the chair she had curled up in.  
  
“It can’t be that bad. They were only flowers! Nice flowers,” she added quickly. “I mean, I could tell they weren’t from M&S or a petrol station.”  
  
“No. They weren’t,” Mycroft responded dryly. “I chose all the blossoms myself.”  
  
“You’re very good at it. I especially liked the pink one.”  
  
“Indeed. The ‘Pink One,'” mouthed Mycroft softly “told Sherlock, 'I find you radiant with charms and can’t live without you.'”  
  
With great difficulty, Molly managed to swallow her sip of tea and not spit it all over herself.  
  
“Oh god. I am such an idiot! I wondered what was going on— the way Sherlock looked at the flowers. You were sending him messages — Of course you two would be fluent in Victorian Flower Language.”  
  
Taking a deep breath, Mycroft nodded. “Yes. We are.”  
  
“And the bouquet today?” Molly asked with trepidation knowing Sherlock’s reaction.  
  
“Orange snapdragons,” His eyes where filled with shame and regret, like a poker player in a game of high stakes whose bluff has just been called.  
  
“Enthusiastic passion—,” Mycroft added quietly after a slight pause. “Which Sherlock demands that I prove or he is threatening to set up camp in your lab until hell freezes over.”  
  
“Wha— How?” swallowing hard, Molly felt the colour drain from her face. “What sort of proof can you give him? I’m so close to finishing, Mycroft,” pleaded Molly. “I only need a few more days.”  
  
“I know,” he replied softly before they both fell silent.  
  
“I believe,” Mycroft took a deep breath to steady his nerves, “barring a very elaborate photo shoot, which neither of us would feel comfortable with, the only way to prove our coupling to Sherlock is for you to mark me.”  
  
Molly stared at Mycroft unable to speak for a few long, uncomfortable moments.  
  
“You want me to give you a love bite?”  
  
“ _Want_ is not a word I would use. But this option is the preferable option. It will satisfy the need Sherlock has for proof of our ‘enthusiastic passion.’ Since I am the one who has inadvertently pushed Sherlock too far I should be the one to bear the brunt of his demands.”  
  
“Have you ever had one?” asked Molly tentatively.  
  
Mycroft could only give an embarrassed shake of his head.  
  
“Okay,” responded Molly gently while taking a deep breath. She looked at the very nervous Mycroft sitting on her couch and felt nothing but pity for him. “I’ll try and make this as easy on you as possible.”  
  
Mycroft nodded in response.  
  
“I'll tell you what we are going to do. Stand up,” Molly stood next to Mycroft with her hand out. He took it and stood up. “I’ll just keep talking to let you know what I’m doing so there are no surprises, okay?”  
  
Letting out a deep breath, once again Mycroft nodded.  
  
“I’m going to slip your jacket off.” He watched as Molly folded his jacket and laid it over the arm of the chair she had been sitting in.  
  
“The easiest place to do this is sitting on the couch. Knowing Sherlock, the angle will have to be right,” Molly muttered to herself as she motioned for him to sit back in the middle of the sofa.  
  
Sitting bolt upright with his hands on his knees Molly could tell he was working quite hard to keep the terror welling up inside in check. She smiled at him and laid a hand gently on his shoulder.  
  
“Try to relax. I’m going to sit on your lap facing you.”  
  
Gulping hard Mycroft tensed under her touch.  
  
“Shhhh. There is a reason for me to be here. It will be okay. It will be okay,” Molly cooed gently as she positioned herself on the edge of Mycroft’s lap facing him.  
  
“Take your hands and put them on my hips.” Slowly a pair of large hands came to rest so gently on Molly’s hips she could barely feel them.  
  
"Good. Good. You are doing so well,” praised Molly. She now put her other hand on his other shoulder. “I’m guessing you find it difficult to talk in these situations so a safe word would be of no use.” With a look a relief in his eyes Mycroft nodded; Molly smiled back.  
  
“Our signal will be three taps by one of your hands. You do that and I’ll stop instantly. We’re going to do a practice run. I’m going to kiss you— and you tap — and I’ll stop— Ready?”  
  
“Remember we have kissed before—,” Molly added before her lips lightly touched Mycroft’s. He was so tense she could feel him shaking under her lips. After mere seconds she felt the signal and stopped immediately pulling back, leaving plenty of room between them. Mycroft closed his eyes and gasped.  
  
“That was good. Very good. How did that feel?”  
  
“It will be okay. I can do this,” mumbled Mycroft mostly to himself.  
  
“Let’s start with simple kissing. Ready?” Once again she slowly leaned into him, his hands now more firm on her waist. She started by kissing his jaw, moving along towards his mouth as she felt him relax. Finally reaching his lips Mycroft let out a sigh and hummed approval. She felt his lips part ever so slightly and tentatively brushed her tongue along his upper lip eliciting a whimper from Mycroft as his grip tightened around her waist.  
  
Molly ran her fingers along the back of his neck and she felt him relax further into the kiss. When she pulled back, she was met with a pair of dilated eyes and a lopsided smile.  
  
“You okay?” Molly asked gently.  
  
“Yes,” was the whispered response.  
  
“Good. First I need to loosen your tie.” Molly could feel his anxiety cool the room. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” she replied once again as her fingers worked the knot out of the thick silk. “Now I’m going to undo the top two buttons.”  
  
Mycroft was breathing hard and looking at Molly’s mouth longingly.  
  
“Will this be easier if I’m kissing you?” was merely answered by a curt nod. Once again Molly’s mouth found Mycroft’s as her fingers worked the small buttons through their holes.  
  
Without thinking, Molly ran her hands along Mycroft’s collar bone causing his moan to fill her mouth— there were two sharp taps— she could feel Mycroft’s heart pounding but there was no third tap and he rubbed her hips as if to erase the false alarm as he regained control.  
  
Molly’s heart was pounding as she slightly pulled back from Mycroft leaning her forehead on his. “I’m going to kiss you down your chin, over to a place on your neck. I’ll position the hickey where your collar will hide most of it,” explained Molly breathlessly.  
  
“Just get it over with,” begged Mycroft.  
  
Moving back to his mouth, Molly slipped her tongue deep inside his mouth sending a shudder through his body before she moved down to his chin, “Don’t fight the endorphins,” instructed Molly as Mycroft’s head fell back exposing his neck.  
  
Slowly she kissed and licked her way across his neck to slightly below his ear. Once Mycroft detected her stillness he tensed once again. Gently she licked the spot until he relaxed then she drew a piece of skin between her lips and began to suck— vigorously.  
  
Mycroft’s fingers were gripping her so hard Molly was sure she would have 10 fingertip bruises she could also show Sherlock tomorrow. He let out a guttural moan, expletives tumbling from his lips.  
  
Pulling back to look at her handwork, Molly took a deep breath. Mission accomplished— a small but distinct bruise was already forming.  
  
“All done,” Molly said quietly.  
  
“Don’t move,” responded Mycroft hoarsely as his arms slipped around her; one circling her waist, the other cradling the back of her head. “Don’t move,” he whispered again.  
  
Molly let her head drop onto his shoulder, nuzzling his neck, peppering where she could reach with tiny kisses. Mycroft hummed in response to her touch, his heart still pounding.  
  
With a shuddering deep breath, Mycroft’s heartbeat returned to slow and steady. Soon she could feel his breathing become deep and regular but his hold on her remained.  
  
Moments passed with no movement from Mycroft. “Have you fallen asleep?” asked Molly with a giggle.  
  
“Apparently yes,” came the sleepy response followed by the briefest of hugs before his grip loosened.  
  
Molly pushed herself back and looked at a very groggy Mycroft. She ran her hand down his cheek. “You did so well. I know that was difficult for you.”  
  
Looking at her, Mycroft’s gaze drifted between her eyes, lips and neck. “The rush— extraordinary—‘ He whispered with a look of longing in his eyes.  
  
“That would be your hormones talking. You have had quite enough tonight.” Molly moved off Mycroft’s lap. “Have a biscuit while I make you a cup of tea.”  
  
//  
  
The pair was standing in Molly’s small bathroom. Mycroft craned his neck looking at the hickey.  
  
“Well done my dear, perfect placement.”  
  
“It turned out well considering the last person I gave a hickey to was my first boyfriend at uni.”  
  
“Ah. Must be a skill like riding a bicycle,” smirked Mycroft. “I shall let you get back to your evening.”  
  
“Well, it certainly has been an interesting visit.” Molly was standing at her front door watching Mycroft put on his coat. His tie was once again tied, although loosely and the top button of his shirt was still undone.  
  
“It might be a little sore tonight. Sorry. Don’t use any ice on it until you see Sherlock. You won’t want any bruising to go away too quickly. Good luck I hope it is enough,” she stated with a smile.  
  
“I do too. Good evening Molly,” he gave a small nod in her direction before slipping out of her flat into the London evening.  
  
//  
  
  
“Hello?” Molly’s voice was heavy with sleep as she rolled over with a huff to look at the digital clock on her bedside table. 6:07am — the hospital shouldn’t be calling her this early.  
  
“Good morning, my dear. I’m sorry to wake you but I seem to have a small issue brought on by our activities last night.”  
  
Molly noticed the odd tone in Mycroft’s voice but couldn’t place it—  
  
“Oh no, what’s happened?” Molly was now fully awake, her mind racing, trying to remember side-effects of a hickey. Other than an outside chance of a blood clot what could possibly—  
  
“I am sitting here in my weekly meeting with the Cabinet and they wish to speak to you,” explained Mycroft with more than a little annoyance in his voice.


	4. Wrapping Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has not been beta-ed. All errors are mine.

Mycroft raised the fine bone china tea cup to his lips, his gaze locked with his brother who was mirroring his actions. The muffled sounds of Mrs Hudson watching Jeremy Kyle downstairs were seeping through the walls of 221B Baker Street.

Finally Sherlock spoke, his brow furrowed as he kept trying to understand his brother’s actions. “This is not like you. You don’t ‘do’ relationships. Why now? Why her?” The questions were muttered to himself under his breath.

“As with most things related to the heart Sherlock, the answer is quite simple— it just happened,” answered Mycroft as nonchalantly as possible.

“Apparently the bollocking she gave the Cabinet this morning for teasing you about that monstrosity on your neck was quite something.”

“It was rather.” Remembering Molly’s tirade a small but proud smile crept across Mycroft’s face.

“Your intentions?”

Mycroft simply shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn’t possibly say.”

Sherlock unconsciously steepled his hands at his chin while his gaze hardened on his brother.  Ignoring Sherlock’s invasive glare Mycroft tipped the tea cup up one last time and let the last swallow of milky liquid slide down his throat bringing teatime to a close. Questions were still circling in Sherlock’s eyes when Mycroft decided enough was enough.

“As much as I would love to fritter the afternoon away answering your banal questions about my personal life Sherlock some of us do have work to do.” After putting his tea cup and saucer in the sink Mycroft slipped on his coat. “See you next week brother mine,” he called from well down the stairs.

Once alone Sherlock let an evil smirk settle on his face. He was done anyway. He had deduced all he needed to know.  

//

It was a dull Sunday afternoon and Molly was surrounded by mugs of half-drunk tea. Taking a deep breath she hit ‘send’ and her paper was submitted. Moments later a wave of exhaustion and relief washed over her.

Standing up yawning and starching, her neck cracked as she rolled it around. She had been working non-stop for nearly a week. As she padded into her bathroom she realized that she had not heard from either Mycroft or Sherlock for days. She sent Mycroft a text with one word, “Done!” _Tomorrow I’ll ring and properly thank him_ she decided as she slipped into the hot bath water.

Only when the water had grown cold and her skinned pruned did Molly get out of the bath. While putting on her comfiest pyjamas her stomach gave an almighty growl— she couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten. 

Sleepily passing through her living room on the way to the kitchen she completely missed the man sitting in her chair. When he spoke it scared her to death.

“Is this sham finally over?”

“Fuck sake Sherlock,” panted Molly trying to recover from the surge of adrenaline. “You scared me!”

“No idea why. You and Mycroft conspired to keep me away from you while you did your paper. It’s done. I’m back,” Sherlock gave her a smug smile.   

“You— knew?”

“Of course. Mycroft doesn’t do—“ Sherlock looked Molly up and down while gesturing in the air with his hands, “—people.”

A sharp knock on the door stopped the argument before it could start.  The pair looked at each other questioningly before Molly tentatively moved towards the door and opened it.

“Hello my dear I thought we should celebrate.” Mycroft was standing on her doorstep holding a large box filled with take-away containers, a bunch of flowers and a bottle of champagne. “Sorry I’m late, slight delay at the Chinese.”

Moving past Molly into the living room he set the box down on the dining table.

“Hello Sherlock,” said Mycroft casually. “Joining us for dinner? For you,” he added handing Molly the flowers. “Many congratulations on the successful completion of your project.”

“I’ll just get a vase for these.” Molly dipped her head shyly and scurried into the kitchen.

Ignoring Sherlock’s stunned expression Mycroft began unpacking the food. “Plates or containers?” he called towards the kitchen.

“Containers. I’m not in the mood for washing up tonight,” answered Molly.

Mycroft let a small snort of amusement escape as he took his jacket off and draped it over the back of a nearby chair. Molly appeared with the flowers and gave Mycroft a big smile as she set the vase in the middle of the table.

“Thank you. They are lovely. I’m just going to slip some clothes on while you open the champers.” Mycroft’s gaze followed her as she left the room.

“Two glasses or three?” Mycroft asked as he opened up the sideboard near the dining table.

Sherlock remained silent.

Bringing two glasses back to the table Mycroft turned to face Sherlock briefly letting his mask fall, answering all of the questions hanging in the air.

“Oh.” Sherlock’s voice was filled with pity. “I’ll leave you in peace.”

Putting on a cheery voice Sherlock called, “I’ve got to go Molly. I’ll stop by the lab tomorrow to discuss my requirements.” A faint “Okay” was heard before he slipped out the door without looking back.

Mycroft had just finished pouring the bubbly when Molly appeared in baggy trousers, t-shirt and jumper.

“Perfect timing.”

Molly took the glass from Mycroft, chinked it with his and the pair drank.

“With your paper off I guess our charade is over.” Mycroft stated quietly as he took another sip of the champagne. “Mission successfully competed I’d say.”

Looking between the flowers and Mycroft Molly simply nodded, “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

Throughout dinner Mycroft was subdued.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been too quiet all evening,” asked Molly tossing the empty plastic containers into the box.

“Oh, nothing,” replied Mycroft absently. Taking a deep breath he refilled their glasses with the last of the bottle. He allowed the alcohol to loosen his tongue. “I didn’t anticipate the end of our hoax would hit me so hard. Silly really.”

Forcing a smile Mycroft tried to keep all the memories he had collected of Molly during the past weeks from running like a filmstrip in his mind. Watching as Molly picked up her phone a pang of loneliness sliced through his heart.  She was getting on with her life—  she no longer needed his help. Soon things would return to the way it had been before that night at the Diogenes Club. No more obsessing over flower bouquets. No more protecting her from Sherlock. No more kissing … He was startled out of his thoughts and back into Molly’s flat by a text arriving on his personal phone.

Muttering apologies he pulled out his mobile and found a photo of purple lilacs had been texted to him.

 “When I went to change my clothes I Googled daffodils— just to check,” explained Molly gently to a rather stunned Mycroft.  “You’re affections aren’t unrequited at all.”  

//

Blinking her eyes open Molly found faint morning light filling her bedroom. _Why am I awake?_   Moments later she felt the tip of a nose nuzzling the back of her neck. _Ah_. Soon she heard a sleepy request followed by more nuzzling. Rolling her eyes before closing them again she remained silent.

“So will you?” The voice was raspy with sleep and needy. Very needy.

“Mycroft,” huffed Molly still half asleep, “Really? The second night we share a bed and you ask me to do this?”

“You are a doctor. I should think you would find it relatively routine.” His nose was now drawing lazy loops on the back on her neck making the hairs stand up. He was insuring there was no way she was going back to sleep.

“You do it for me, I’ll do it for you,” he offered with a mischievous whisper. Molly let out a resigned sigh.

“Fine. But do not think this is going become a regular thing. Because it’s not,” Molly tried to sound stern while Mycroft was positively giddy as he handed her his phone.

“Who am I talking to?’

“The office of Work and Pensions— it’s his turn to chair the meeting.”

Putting on her best doctor voice Molly spoke with authority down the phone, “This is Dr Hooper. I’m ringing to let you know Mr Holmes won’t be attending the Cabinet meeting this morning— No— nothing serious— he should be able to resume his duties in a few hours— Yes— I will tell him to expect the minutes from the meeting later today. Thank you.”  With a smirk she slapped the phone into Mycroft’s outstretched palm.

“Can’t believe I just did that. You are a bad influence on me.” she muttered snuggling back down under the covers.

Moments later her phone pinged. She opened one eye to read it.

SMS- “Hey Mols. Sorry to hear you are ill. The first half of your shift is sorted. Let me know if you need the afternoon off too. – Mike”

“Okay, roll over,” sighed Molly as she put her phone back on the bedside table. Mycroft did as he was told allowing Molly to become the big spoon. Wrapping her arms around him she pressed her ear against his pyjama covered back listening to his regular and strong heartbeat.

With contented looks on their faces they both drifted back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According the the Victorian Flower language I found on the web:
> 
> Daffodils = unrequited love // Jonquil = I desire a return of affection
> 
> Lilac, Purple = First emotions of love
> 
> Hope you have enjoyed this version of Mollcroft! If there is a Mollcroft story you would like me to write -- get in touch! I am on Tumblr with the same Username.


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